


On the Spinner's Wheel

by tigriswolf



Series: Alternate Universe [319]
Category: Supernatural, The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, Grief, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, POV Outsider, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:09:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26528005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: The Mag7 TV show (modern AU) meets Supernatural (pre-canon through season 2), seen from the eyes of Ellen Harvelle.[chapters 1 - 3 are the story; chapter 4 is a bonus scene]
Relationships: Ellen Harvelle & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Ellen Harvelle & Jo Harvelle, Ellen Harvelle & Vin Tanner, Ellen Harvelle/William Harvelle, Ezra Standish/Vin Tanner
Series: Alternate Universe [319]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/250615
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	1. Lachesis' Measure

**Author's Note:**

> Title: On The Spinner's Wheel  
> Fandom: “Supernatural”/modern-day AU “The Magnificent Seven”  
> Chapter: I. Lachesis' Measure  
> Disclaimer: not my characters, anyone you recognize; just for fun.  
> Warnings: spoilers for everything in “Supernatural”  
> Pairings: Ellen/Bill  
> Rating: PG13  
> Wordcount: 1170  
> Point of view: third  
> Notes: “Lachesis” is the Greek Fate who measures the thread of life.
> 
> Another Note: written in 2009. I also wrote out Ellen's accent and even though it sorta bugs me now, I'm not revising it. *shrugs* Sorry if that's a deal breaker.

He storms into the Roadhouse one blustery winter day, covered in snow and snarling. Behind him trails another man—taller, broader—muttering something about bull-headed pride. She looks up, poised to welcome them—like she welcomes everyone into her saloon—but the first man’s thunderous expression silences her.

Without being told, Jo darts outta sight. Bill isn’t home at the moment; off huntin’ with John and some of the boys, he’ll be back Friday at the latest. It’s just her and Jo, not countin’ the various hunters, so Ellen reaches for her shotgun, keeps her hand on it as the first man storms to a table in the back and the taller one comes up to her.

“Excuse ‘im, ma’am,” he says, blue eyes twinklin’ and just a bit sad. “He’s had a rough year.”

Ellen smiles her forgiveness and asks, “What can I get you, sugar?”

He smirks, nods, knows he’s been caught. Ellen knows a flirt when she sees one. “Whiskey, please.”

She serves him and he tips an imaginary hat, carries the two glasses to his friend’s table. Ellen watches ‘em for a second before turnin’ back to the never-endin’ chores.

-

They stay for hours, silently nursin’ their whiskey. Customers come and go; none speak to the two men. She covertly studies ‘em: the first, the angry one, has dark blond hair shorn close, though a few errant bangs flip into his face. She didn’t really see his eyes when he first stormed in, but now that she has time, she notices that they’re a hard green. A dangerous green.

Reminds her of John Winchester, this man does. And that nearly frightens her.

The other, flirt with melancholy eyes, is gorgeous; reminds her of her Bill. Taller than Bill, though, and broader. She mentally measures him—maybe even bigger’n John. Dangerous, too. Perhaps more dangerous than his friend.

Jo peeks back into the main-room and Ellen shakes her head. Jo returns to the back, doin’ whatever she was doin’. Ellen smiles, watchin’ her little girl slip back down the hall. Adorable. Looks like Bill. Once Bill gets back, Ellen decides, they’ll get back to havin’ more kids.

Blondie slams down his glass and Ellen pulls her attention back to him. Flirt quirks a brow and says something softly. Blondie snarls in reply.

Ellen sighs.

-

Closin’ comes and goes. Flirt asks if she has any rooms available; he’s got more’n enough cash to pay the night. Thing is, he explains, they’re sorta in the middle’a nowhere and they’re both too smashed to drive. Not to mention, it’ll start snowin’ again any minute now.

Ellen raises a brow and Flirt pulls out a set of puppy-eyes equal to Jo’s. To her shame, even Ellen—married to the best man in the world for nigh on twelve years now—isn’t immune to Flirt’s charm. She caves like a house of cards.

“One night,” she says firmly. “Hundred dollars for the both’a ya.” She feels a bit guilty for chargin’ ‘im for what she gives freely to friends, but—he’s dangerous. They both are. Remind her of hunters, except they’re not, because she knows most of ‘em.

Flirt helps his friend up and she leads the way to the room, slightly uneasy with ‘em at her back, where she can’t see what they’re up to. Which is silly, she knows. They wouldn’t try anythin’ here, on her own ground. Plus, Flirt doesn’t seem the type to hurt women.

Flirt thanks her, lowering Blondie onto one of the beds, the one further from the door. She smiles and backs away, leavin’ the door slightly ajar.

Time to finish cleanin’ and put Jo to bed, then try sleepin’ herself.  
  
-

She’s behind the bar early next mornin’, doin’ minor things. Flirt drags himself outta bed first and sags on a stool, smiles winnin’ly at her. “May I please have somethin’ to eat, ma’am?” he drawls, blue eyes just twinklin’ away.

“Don’t serve breakfast, sugar,” she tells him with a grin. “There’re some diners a few dozen miles on up the road, though.”

He droops, nearly poutin’. “And here I was, hopin’ for some of what must surely be the best hotcakes this side of the Mississippi.”

That startles a laugh out of her and she shakes her head. He’s a flirt, alright. Cute, too. “Gather up your friend,” she suggests, pourin’ him a glass of water. “Then get ‘im fed before the whiskey eats a hole in his intestines.”

He laughs now, though to her it sounds a mite desperate, and shot through with sadness. “Isn’t whiskey been fermented yet that could defeat Chris Larabee.”

Larabee—that name pings somethin’ in her memory, but Flirt continues on with, “You’re right, ma’am. Best gather him up and get gone.” He stands, tilts an imaginary hat again. “Places to be.”

She watches him saunter to the back, eyes trailin’ along his body—mighty fine specimen, he is. Nearly Bill’s equal. She sure hopes Bill gets home early this hunt.

“Mama!” Jo exclaims, rushin’ in. “There’s some deer out back!” Jo whirls around and runs full-tilt towards the back door, and Ellen has to beat the speed of light before Jo gets outside in the freezing wind dressed in nothin’ but her PJ’s—an old shirt of Bill’s that’s no match for December weather.

“Put on some real clothes, honey,” Ellen says, swingin’ up her daughter into her arms. Jo’s too big for this, nearin’ seven, but she snuggles close anyway. “And a couple of jackets. Don’t forget mittens. Then come back, let me inspect, and we’ll go see if the deer are still here. ‘kay?”

Jo pouts but nods and Ellen lets her down. Jo hustles off, always eager to meet new animals. She shares that with her Uncle Freddy, Ellen’s youngest brother. Reminds Ellen that she needs to call up Freddy, see how he’s been gettin’ on with that spitfire wife of his. Been too long since they talked.

She’s enterin’ the main-room when Flirt comes in, draggin’ Blondie—Chris—with him. “Thank you for the room, ma’am,” Flirt says. “Mighty kind of you.”

Chris grunts somethin’ Ellen decides to interpret as his thanks.

“Be careful in the snow, now, ya hear?” she says and Flirt nods.

“Ma’am, you have no need to worry ‘bout us.” His smile is wide open as the sky, but his eyes tell her otherwise. These boys—men—need someone to worry ‘bout them. But Ellen’s life is full; she’s got no room for ‘em.

Jo sprints back in—again—bundled up like they live in Alaska and Flirt slips out the door, Chris beside him.

She checks Jo over, determines she’s wearin’ enough layers for such a wintry day, and takes her daughter out to watch the deer.

Bill’ll be home soon. She’s got no need to wonder about those men, the shadows in their eyes, or the emptiness of Flirt’s laughter. Even if she could tell that it _used_ to be golden and full of joy.


	2. Clotho's Thread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: On The Spinner's Wheel  
> Fandom: “Supernatural”/modern-day “The Magnificent Seven” AU crossover  
> Chapter: II. Clotho's Thread  
> Disclaimer: if you recognize ‘em, they ain’t mine  
> Warnings: spoilers for season 2 “Supernatural.” Rampant abuse of commas. Frequent sentence fragments.  
> Pairings: none  
> Rating: PG13  
> Wordcount: 2010  
> Point of view: third  
> Notes: All you really need to know about Vin is… well, nothing. But he’s not an OMC.  
> More notes: “Clotho” is the Greek Fate who spins the thread of life.
> 
> Another Note: remember, written pre-angels as a thing. so in this 'verse, Azazel's endgame was still BoyKing Sam as a puppet

He slips into the Roadhouse whisper-slick, a wraith more than anything else. Ellen looks up at the first scuff of the door and lightnin’ from outside hides his face.  
  
She’s two minutes from closin’ but the flash fades and she sees him: young. Tired. Huge, bruised blue eyes, long blond hair pulled back in a loose pony, slight frame not done growin’ out—could be Jo, Jo been born a boy. Kid couldn’t be more’n nineteen, if that.  
  
Been stormin’ for hours, not lookin’ to settle anytime soon. The place is empty but for her and the kid, Jo off huntin’ and Ash doin’ whatever it is he does in his room. Kid’s soaked to the bone, bedraggled, looks achingly young.  
  
He floats across the floor, eyes takin’ in everythin’: the position of the furniture, the exits, the gun just behind her. He doesn’t make a sound and she rakes her gaze from his hair—not washed in days, not brushed in longer—to his old, worn boots. She returns her eyes to his, but he looks away, sinks onto a stool with a well-concealed wince.  
  
“Can I get you somethin’, honey?” she asks, the mother in her warring with the hunter and winning.  
  
“Water,” he answers softly with a Texas drawl. “Please, ma’am.”  
  
Polite boy. “Bottle or tap?”  
  
He raises his gaze at that. “Don’t matter, ma’am. ’s’long as it’s cold.”  
  
She smiles and gets him a bottle, tells him not to worry ‘bout payin’: last customer of the night always gets somethin’ on the house. She wipes down the bar, sweeps the floor, watches him. He keeps his eyes on his bottle, clings to it like it’s the only anchor he has to the world.  
  
“Got somewhere to be?” she inquires as he finally stands, a good hour after closin’s come and gone.  
  
“No’m,” he says without lookin’ up from the bar.  
  
“Well, then, I got a room in the back.”  
  
His head jerks up and his eyes are fearful, like a caged animal long used to pain—anger curls in her belly, sears through her blood. Someone’s hurt this boy, hurt him real good.  
  
“There’s a nasty storm out there, kid,” Ellen tells him gruffly; he wouldn’t know what to do with concern, with kindness. “I don’t want you drownin’ on my conscience. “  
  
He studies her for a long moment. “What d’ya want for payment, ma’am?” he finally asks resignedly. “I ain’t got much money.”  
  
“We’ll work that out,” she says then strides past him. “Follow me.”  
  
After a long pause, he does.  
  
“Got a name?” She leads him to a far corner of the Roadhouse, a place she figures a newly freed wild thing might feel safe.  
  
“Vin, ma’am,” he replies. “Vin Tanner.”  
  
The name is unfamiliar, not that she expected otherwise. And from the way he said it—without hesitation, the words smooth and sure on his tongue—she knows it’s real.  
  
-  
  
He’s a slight creature, underfed, scrawny. Weary, wary, and worn, waiting for a blow or harsh word, uncertain of compliments or gentleness. But Ellen can see the strength beneath the fear and pain, can see the predator waitin’ to break free.  
  
She puts him to work tending her bar, helping her with the upkeep of the place. Hasn’t had such handy hand since Bill. Hunters pass through, still, more than ever; she’s thankful for the help. She feeds him good and proper, and he puts weight on his frame soon enough, quits lookin’ like a tiny breeze could topple him over.  
  
And she teaches him a few moves, nothin’ fancy. Lookin’ like he does—them gigantic blue eyes, soft mouth, lithe body—he needs to know how to defend himself, though she suspects she’s too late.  
  
A few weeks after she takes him in, he softly, hesitantly, asks if he can borrow a gun to practice with. She tells him what to do, leads him out back—and he shoots a perfect circle ‘round the bull’s-eye, then a smiley face inside the circle.  
  
“Smart ass,” she laughs and claps him on the back.  
  
-  
  
He and Ash enjoy each other’s company, far as she can reckon. Vin mainly sticks to himself, though, never starts conversations with any customers.  
  
He’s a good boy, Vin is, shy, quiet. She doesn’t ask about his past and he doesn’t volunteer any information.  
  
About five months after Vin arrives, the Winchesters step back into the Roadhouse for the first time since Sam got himself possessed. They keep to themselves in the corner and Ellen’s about to go ask what they’ll have but Vin beats her to it.  
  
Seems like there’ll be no trouble till Mark Sykes drains his seventh glass of whiskey and loudly demands if she lets no good, freaky murderers in her bar now.  
  
Ellen notices that Vin stiffens soon as the first harsh syllable leaves Mark’s mouth and that Dean raises his head dangerously.  
  
“I think that’s enough for you, Sykes,” she says, reaching for his empty glass; his hand grabs her wrist.  
  
All sound stops. Ellen doesn’t make any sudden moves, just calmly tells him, “Let go of me, Sykes.”  
  
His fingers tighten their grip and she winces. “Bitch,” he hisses. “You’re no better than them killers.” He’s drunk, drunker than she’s ever seen him before, and knows that he’s hurtin’, worried, doesn’t know what he’s sayin’—but that’s no excuse.  
  
Her eyes flicker to Vin, who looks angrier than she’s seen him in the half year she’s known him. He’s still achingly young, but now—now, he’s almost _dangerous_ , too.  
  
None of the dozen or so hunters in the bar are makin’ a move to help her; Sykes is big, almost as big as Sam, and drunk.  
  
Vin silently steps forward and Dean smoothly rises to his feet. Ellen first looks at Vin then Dean and shakes her head. This is her mess to handle, since it’s her bar. “Let go of me and get out, Sykes,” she says.  
  
“And what about them Winchesters?” Sykes demands. “You gonna let them murderin’ sons of bitches stay?”  
  
Now Sam’s on his feet and Dean’s slipped through the tables to stand at Sykes’ elbow, though Sykes is too drunk to notice. Vin’s at her side, eyes cold and face stone. Dean grabs Sykes’ shoulder and says, low and quiet and vicious, “Let her go, _now_.”  
  
Her eyes on Sykes’ face, Ellen can see him wince. His fingers tighten just a bit then release her. “Bar’s closed,” she announces to the room. “Everyone out, right this minute.” She meets Dean’s eyes. “’cept for you boys. Get him out of here then come back for some drinks on the house.”  
  
Sykes struggles a bit but none of his friends come to help him and Dean manhandles him out. Sam looming at his back might keep some of the hunters at bay, Ellen bets, her shotgun in her hands. Once they’re back in, Ellen tells Vin to lock up for the night, Sam fetches their stuff from the table, and the Winchesters settle at the bar, perched on stools.  
  
“Been awhile,” she says, serving them whiskey. Vin leans against the wall, barely in the room.  
  
Dean nods. “That it has,” he replies, sipping slowly.  
  
Sam ducks his head, peers at her through his out-of-control hair. “Ellen, about what happened to Jo,” he starts.  
  
She cuts him off. “Wasn’t you, Sam. I know that. She does, too.” She smiles at him and he straightens up, hesitantly smiles back. “If it helps, I forgive you, though you don’t need it.” And his full smile blossoms, that delighted little-boy grin that brightens the room.  
  
“Who’s your shadow?” Dean asks with a nod toward Vin. “Don’t remember seein’ him before.”  
  
Ellen gives Vin a fond glance and he blushes; she turns back to Dean. “Vin Tanner. He’s been stayin’ here, can for as long as he wants.”  
  
Dean meets her eyes for a moment, assessing her, before smiling his version of Sam’s grin. “You’re a good person, Ellen,” he tells her softly. “I’m sorry we caused trouble.”  
  
She scoffs. “There was trouble long before you boys showed up.” She refills Dean’s glass and pours her own. “The hunters are takin’ sides, weighin’ and measurin’ what all we know. Your daddy kept you apart for a reason, God rest his stubborn soul. But you have me at your back, Bobby, Joshua—others.”  
  
Dean glances at Sam out the corner of his eye. Ellen busies herself wipin’ down the countertop as they have a silent conversation. Vin starts straightenin’ up the floor and Sam slips off the stool to help, leavin’ Dean to talk with her.  
  
“Send out a message, Ellen,” Dean says, fiddlin’ with his glass. “Sam’s off limits. Gordon was a warnin’—anyone hurts Sam, I’ll find ‘em and kill ‘em.” He raises his eyes to meet hers. “Slow.”  
  
She shudders and nods.  
  
-  
  
After Dean and Sam leave, Ellen can’t sleep. She calls up Bobby and asks if Sam could really become what Gordon and his cronies claim.  
  
“Anyone can turn, Ellen, you know that,” Bobby says. “But Sam? It’ll take much more to darken him.”  
  
“What happens if he does, Bobby?” she demands, knowin’ the answer ’fore her lips finish formin’ the question.  
  
“Then we can count Dean out, too.”  
  
-  
  
She can’t sleep so she goes to the main room and grabs a bottle of beer, settles against the bar, and gulps it down. She glances up when Vin shuffles in quieter than any cat she’s ever known. She’d offer him a beer of his own, but he wouldn’t take it, just shake his head with a small smile and say, “No, thank you’m.”  
  
Ellen’s still reeling from seeing them boys again, from talking to Bobby, from learning John Winchester—immortal, invincible—died all those months ago. So she asks, “Where’d you come from, Vin?”  
  
He looks at her with them big ole blue eyes, eyes that call to mind the sky and the ocean, eyes that are full of such pain it steals her breath. “Many places, ma’am,” he answers, not even trying to be pert. “Places I don’t ever wanna return to.”  
  
She’s dealt with hunters for years, with strays beaten down by the world. She’s dealt with broken men, with shattered women, with children made old before their time. And still, it’s never struck her quite this way until now, until Vin.  
  
“Stay as long as you need, Vin,” she tells him, offering a small smile. “Stay as long as you want.”  
  
“Tell me about the Winchesters?” Vin requests, settling on a stool next to her. “Please, Ellen?”  
  
“Alright then,” she says, turnin’ to face him, bottle loose in her grip. “Starts years ago, when Sam was just a baby, tiny lil thing, ‘bout six months old.” She meets his eyes, looks away, towards the wall, rememberin’ John as he told her this story. She slowly goes throughout the whole thing, coverin’ twenty-odd years, unable to stem the flow of words because they’ve built for so long.  
  
He listens silently, waits for her to finish, and then says, “You’ve been good to me, Ellen. Why?” He sounds honestly confused and she wants to track down whoever it is that’s hurt him so bad he can’t comprehend kindness for its’ own sake.  
  
She shrugs. “You needed it, Vin.”  
  
He raises his eyes to meet hers square on. “Thank you.”  
  
Ellen smiles again and reaches out to clap him on the shoulder. “Get some sleep, sweetie. Somethin’ tells me we’ll need it for the comin’ days.”  
  
Vin nods, smiles that sweet, sad smile at her, and slips from the stool, quietly pads across the floor, down the hall. She listens until the she hears the door close and sinks in on herself.  
  
_Storm’s comin’,_ Bobby’d said. _Real nasty one. Them boys are right in the middle, Ellen. And they’ll need all the friends they can get._  
  
She sighs. Hasn’t prayed since Bill died, but now… Ellen lowers her head, closes her eyes, and tries to remember how it is a prayer goes.


	3. Atropos' Cut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: On The Spinner's Wheel  
> Fandom: “Supernatural”/ “The Magnificent Seven” modern-day AU crossover  
> Chapter: III. Atropos' Cut  
> Disclaimer: the ones you recognize are not my creations  
> Warnings: spoilers for season two of “Supernatural”; AU for “The Magnificent Seven”  
> Pairings: mentions of Ellen/Bill  
> Rating: PG13  
> Wordcount: 2300  
> Point of view: third  
> Notes: “Atropos” is the Greek Fate who cuts the thread of life. (Originally, in this little trilogy thing, “Lachesis” should have been in the middle, as she’s the middle sister, but Chris and Buck wanted their story first, even though they didn’t start speaking to me ‘til after Vin did. So. *shrugs*)
> 
> Another note: In this 'verse, the whole show down in Cold Oak/the devil's gate still happened but the Roadhouse wasn't 'sploded and Ellen wasn't present. And it's up to you to decide if Dean still made his deal or not.

He bounces into the Roadhouse chatterin’ a mile a minute, eager and wriggly like a puppy. Behind him stride two large, long-suffering men exchangin’ looks of patience.  
  
Ellen watches as the pup tries out tables and the men stand back, waitin’ for his choice. Two guardians, she decides, one pale and one dark, both about John Winchester’s size.  
  
Well, what _had_ been John Winchester’s size. Ellen still can’t believe he’s gone, even if his boys told her all those months ago. Been almost a year she’s known, and still… doesn’t seem real.  
  
Finally, the pup settles. Both men sink down at his chosen table.  
  
“Git us some water,” the taller, darker man tells the pup. And he leaps back up, rushes to the bar. Reminds Ellen of her oldest younger brother, Jeffy. Had enough energy to power New York City, that one. Until that drunk bastard hopped the median and stole Jeffy’s life.  
  
Ellen still wishes David, her older brother, had let her go after that sum’bitch.  
  
Pup’s bright brown eyes shine on her, and he’s so different from everyone she’s used to. Reminds her of Jo, back before Bill died, truth be told.  
  
“May I have a pitcher’a water, ma’am?” he asks politely with an accent she isn’t familiar with. Somewhere on the East Coast, she reckons. Boston, maybe. And he’s _still_ bouncin’.  
  
“Shore thing, sugar,” she drawls. “Some glasses, too?”  
  
He blushes. “Yes, ma’am. Please.”  
  
She grins and fills a large pitcher with ice and water, hands him three glasses. His eyes dart to her face and away as he takes all four items. He’s such a cute lil’thing, so young and happy it makes her teeth hurt. He walks back to the table carefully and she looks from him to his friends—guardians—both handsome. No Bill, or even John—and _definitely_ not John’s sons, though that’s not a fair comparison. Even Bill could scarcely compare to those two boys.  
  
“He makes me feel old,” Vin murmurs, ghostin’ up beside her in that cat-way of his.  
  
She softly chuckles. “If either’a us is old, honey, it’d be me.”  
  
A pack of hunters troop in, callin’ for beer and burgers, takin’ over half a dozen tables.  
  
“I’ll get it for ‘em,” Vin tells her. “Old folk should rest.”  
  
He snickers as he ducks her playful swipe and Ellen is glad to see he’s feelin’ comfortable enough to joke.  
  
Pup is whisperin’ like crazy to his white friend—she’ll call him “Amigo,” Ellen decides, since he’s wearin’ a sarape. The other one, she’ll call “Doc” ‘cause he carried in some sorta bag with him.  
  
Amigo shushes Pup kindly and begins tellin’ some story. Ellen can barely hear his deep, soothin’ voice over the rumble of the hunters.  
  
Vin comes back from the kitchen with six plates of burgers, then makes a second trip. Ellen busies herself by tossin' bottles of beer—the best she has—to men she’s known for years. With one glance she sees that she has a name and story for all twelve of the hunters chowin’ down.  
  
“Good hunt?” she asks Eddie Myles, the oldest, the leader.  
  
He grins up at her. “We got an entire nest of succubi,” he says softly, aware of the three strangers. “And Bobby gave us a head’s up to some possessions in the Carolinas, so we’re headin’ out in the mornin’.”  
  
Pup’s gaze keeps comin’ back to the hunters. A dreamer, she decides the boy must be. A romantic.  
  
Doc asks a question and Amigo responds with what seems to be another story.  
  
The door opens on a fancy man, well dressed and smooth. Ellen’s seen his kind before—hustler. He takes in the room with a glance and moves for the corner, within easy reach of both groups and an exit. A player, but no fool.  
  
She walks over to the table and asks, “What can I get you?”  
  
He smiles up at her like a snake, gold tooth twinklin’ in the light. “Scotch, if you have it.”  
  
“That we do. Any food for you?”  
  
“No, ma’am, and thank you kindly.” His exaggerated southern accent gets on her nerves. He wears his act like a pro but he also seems to be tryin’ too hard.  
  
Reminds her of Dean Winchester, really, though she isn’t sure why.  
  
-  
  
Pup, Amigo, and Doc leave ‘bout an hour after they arrive. Player convinces a handful of hunters into a game of poker, and he’s good. So good, in fact, that Eddie gestures for his pack to let Player keep the money he thinks he won.  
  
“Let’s head out,” Eddie calls, leavin’ a nice tip. “We got a long day tomorrow.”  
  
They tramp out, tossin’ goodbye’s over their shoulders until only Eddie remains.  
  
“How’s Gordon Walker?” Ellen asks him when he pauses at the bar.  
  
“Gunnin’ for John’s boys,” Eddie answers with a shake of his head. “Stubborn fool. Gonna git himself killed, goin’ up against Dean.” Eddie sighs. “There’s a war on the horizon, Ellen. Next time you talk to that boy, tell ‘im he’s got me and mine at his back.”  
  
Ellen smiles. “Thank you, Eddie. That’s a mighty good thing.”  
  
“Tell your shadow there,” he chuckles, purposefully breakin’ the moment, “that it ain’t polite, listenin’ in on other people’s conversations.”  
  
Vin pads over silently and Eddie’s out the door.  
  
Player stands and walks over, bringin’ his empty glass. “May I request a refill?” he asks, grinnin’ again. Ellen pours him some more scotch and he turns his attention to Vin. “Might I interest you in a game of cards?”  
  
Vin studies him for a brief moment then says, “Thank you, but no. I don’t play with cheaters.”  
  
Ellen bites back a laugh at the look of shock on Player’s face while Vin starts clearin’ the tables. Player’s eyes track Vin’s movements but Ellen’s certain he won’t try anythin’.  
  
“If I promise not to cheat,” Player tries again, “will you perhaps reconsider?” he tones down the accent a bit.  
  
“Help me with these tables,” Vin challenges, and Ellen is ecstatic he’s actually _talkin’_ to this fellow, much less reachin’ out, “I’ll think about playin’ a hand’a cards.”  
  
Ellen expects Player to turn him down, to flounce out. But instead he holds out his hand and says, “Ezra Standish.” He looks young as he waits for Vin’s reaction, young like Sam Winchester.  
  
Vin reaches out and takes his hand. “Vin Tanner.”  
  
Player—Ezra—delivers plates and glasses to the kitchen, tosses bottles into the recyclin’ bin and trash into the garbage. He and Vin keep up a steady stream of chatter, though Ellen can’t make out what they’re sayin’. Some male code she’ll never be able to break, since she’s missin’ a few key parts.  
  
Ellen loads the dishwasher, trustin’ Vin can take care of himself—and trustin’ that this Ezra-boy won’t make trouble.  
  
Ash stumbles into the kitchen. “Ellen,” he says, disbelief in his voice, “did you know Vin’s playin’ slapjack with some fancy man?”  
  
Ellen laughs, droppin’ a plate back into the sink. “Slapjack? I thought they were plannin’ on playin’ poker.”  
  
Ash just stares at her so Ellen shrugs. “Cain’t explain it, Ash. But I’m glad for it.”  
  
Ash shakes his head and disappears back into his room. Ellen finishes in the kitchen and locks the back door. She steps into the main room and asks, “Ezra? You stayin’ the night?”  
  
He looks young again. She knows he’s lowered his act, is just a boy. “If you’d let me, ma’am.”  
  
“That work you did with Vin,” she says, meanin’ more than just clearin’ tables, “covered the price of a room.” She gives him a gentle smile and strides to the entrance, lockin’ the door. “I’m turnin’ in, boys.”  
  
“Night, Ellen,” Vin calls with a soft smile.  
  
The wraith that first slipped into her saloon is almost gone from his eyes. Ellen nods goodnight to Vin, delighted.  
  
-  
  
Ezra’s in the kitchen when she gets up in the mornin’, fixin’ eggs, toast, and bacon.  
  
He stares at her and asks quietly, “Do you mind?”  
  
She shakes her head. “Go on. I’m glad to turn over the cookin’ to someone else.”  
  
Ellen pours herself a mug of coffee and sips it black. “What are your plans for the day, Ezra?”  
  
He pokes at the bacon with a spatula, then scoops it out of the pan, pouring in the eggs. “I had intended, Ms. Harvelle, to step into your Roadhouse and win some money, then swiftly be on my way. However, I find myself captivated by our young Mr. Tanner.”  
  
Ellen meets his gaze. “And what do you plan to do?” She lets a bit of the hunter in her peer at him out of her eyes.  
  
“I have not yet decided.” He swallows and stirs the eggs, focuses on cookin’.  
  
Vin and Ash stumble in, greeting breakfast with glee. Ash talks at length about some new program he invented and Ezra listens politely, asks in-depth questions. He clearly understands what Ash is goin’ on about and Ellen reevaluates him again.  
  
Jo calls half an hour after breakfast, seekin’ help in her newest hunt. Ezra and Vin are out back; Ellen can hear gunfire. She smirks, answerin’ Jo’s questions. Vin’s showin’ off. Boy’s amazin’ with guns.  
  
She talks with Jo for close to two hours, catchin’ up with her baby girl. Vin and Ezra come back in and she follows them with her eyes, tellin’ Jo to be careful.  
  
“I miss you, sweetie,” she says softly and Jo responds, “Me, too, Mama. But I’ll come back, I promise. I just…”  
  
Ellen laughs sadly. “You’re your daddy’s daughter, Joanna Beth. Always have been.”  
  
She gently hangs up the phone a full minute after Jo says goodbye and sits. Then she stands and goes to her room, crawls beneath the covers, curls in on herself and silently sobs.  
  
-  
  
She doesn’t leave her room until a while after sundown. Vin and Ash have opened the Roadhouse, have taken care of everythin’ for her. They’re good boys, her strays.  
  
And soon one of ‘em will be leavin’ her. From the moment that young blond boy walked into her saloon, Ellen knew it’d be a matter’a time ‘fore he moved on. Vin’s not built to stay in place; he’s a creature of the wild. Ellen saw his kind as a girl, when Daddy would take her and her brothers to reservations, introduce them to America’s first people. Vin reminds her of them, those proud descendants.  
  
And he’ll leave soon. She’s been noticing his wanderlust more and more lately, the way he stares down the road.  
  
He’s healed. The broken boy that slipped in is gone. A year with her, with someone who cares—of all the things she’s ever done, takin’ in that bedraggled boy is one of the best.  
  
She walks into the main room. Ash is tendin’ bar and Vin’s waitin’ tables. Ezra holds court in the corner, a pile of money beside him.  
  
Vin sees her and darts over, pulls her back into the hall. She knows what’s comin’ as he stutters and pauses, and finally a torrent of words spill forth.  
  
She reaches out, touches a finger to his lips. “You come back, boy. You hear?”  
  
His smile trembles. “I will.”  
  
-  
  
It’s a couple’a weeks before Vin is ready to go. He can’t quite meet Ellen’s eyes those last few days and she knows he feels guilty for “abandonin’” her.  
  
Ezra holds court every night 'til they leave. He makes a tidy sum and squirrels it away, spread out amongst his various pockets.  
  
Ellen still isn’t sure what their relationship is, her boy and the player. But Ezra will take care of her Vin, that she knows. He seems the sort to connect with very few and those he claims as his… well, now she understands why she thought of Dean, that first time they met.  
  
-  
  
The day dawns beautiful. Vin hugs Ellen for a long time, face buried in her shoulder, arms tight around her.  
  
“Take care of yourself, sweetie,” Ellen whispers. “And come home some day.”  
  
“I swear, Ellen,” he promises.  
  
As he says goodbye to Ash, Ellen turns to Ezra. “Be careful with my boy, Standish,” she says softly, dangerously.  
  
“I swear, Ms. Harvelle,” he murmurs solemnly. She claps his shoulder with a strained smile.  
  
-  
  
“Bill told me,” Ellen says to Ash the night Vin and Ezra take off down the road for parts unknown. She’s on her fifth glass of whiskey. “He told me, ‘Ellen, takin’ in strays is hard on your heart.’” She shakes her head and looks at Ash, seekin’… somethin’.  
  
“He was right,” Ash says, nudgin’ her shoulder. “Ellen, he was. But, just think—if you never took in strays, how empty would your life be?”  
  
“I just want him safe, Ash.” She fiddles with her glass. “And I want Jo home. I want Bill back—God, I miss him, Ash. I just..”  
  
Ash leans into her. “I know, Ellen. I do know.”  
  
She sighs, thinkin’ back to the boy who first slipped into her Roadhouse, more a ghost than a livin’ thing. “He was happy. Talkin’ with Ezra—I’d never seen him so happy.”  
  
Ellen stands, pushin’ away her chair. “I’m goin’ to bed.”  
  
Her stray’ll be back some day. That she knows. She’s let him go; she’s lettin’ him spread his wings—so he’ll return. He gave his word and Vin Tanner doesn’t have it in him to break his oath.  
  
-  
  
At noon the day after Vin leaves, Jo steps into the Roadhouse for the first time in over a year. Ellen looks up and lunges to her daughter, pulls Jo into her arms.  
  
“Mama,” Jo cries, face buried in Ellen’s chest. “Mama.”  
  
“I got you, honey,” Ellen whispers. “You’re home now.”


	4. BONUS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i... do not know, exactly, what was gonna happen. but i have this little snapshot from JD's pov, so i might as well post it. consider it a bonus deleted scene or something.

So, JD is about seventeen, eighteen(fine, a week away from being seventeen, if you wanna get _technical_ about it) and Uncle Josiah is real particular about his car, see? It’s an old Ford, knew dirt when dirt was young and all that, and JD just wants to prove he’s reliable enough to be entrusted with Uncle Josiah’s precious.   
  
Uncle Josiah hates _The Lord of the Rings_ and JD loves referring to it. Good times.  
  
Anyway. So, JD borrows cars now and again(not stealing, because stealing is wrong. His friends and their parents know he’s got the cars, so it’s not stealing.) and goes out driving, picks a long, straight patch of road, lets the engine roar. (Uncle Nate would _kick his ass_ if he ever learned just how it is that JD drives.)  
  
Of course, this one time, he’s driving Billy’s mama’s Mercedes(not the smartest woman on Earth, God bless her soul), and his CD skips. So, of course, he’s got to fiddle with it, try to make it work, see? And, well—  
  
It’s not JD’s fault. Really, it’s not.  
  
.  
  
Okay, that’s a lie. It’s _totally_ his fault and he _totally_ knows it, and damn, he’s _totally_ screwed. Mama’s going to _kill_ him.   
After Billy’s done with him.  
And Billy’ll only get him after _Uncle Nate_ —oh, _shit_. Why couldn’t he have died in the wreck?  
  
.  
  
So. Billy’s mama’s Mercedes is toast. JD’s left arm hurts like a bitch. He thinks he might have whiplash. And now there’s two guys getting out of the Chevy—oh, _Christ_ —he plowed into.  
Shit. He is _so_ dead.  
  
.  
  
He thinks back, while the two guys stalk over—well, one sort of floats like a cat, all serene and stuff, while the other strides like a storm, glaring—thinks back to Mama and Boston and George who made Mama send him away to her half-brother in the west. He thinks back to the first weeks with Uncle ‘siah, angry and hurting, taking it all out on the man who’d taken him with no protest.

Uncle ‘siah’s too good for him. Deserves better than JD.

Anyway, so with Uncle Josiah comes Uncle Nathan. They’ve been friends forever, since long before JD was born. Uncle Nate’s a doctor, one of the best in America. And Uncle ‘siah’s a preacher who gave up the pulpit to help troubled kids on the streets.

So, yeah, JD isn’t good enough for either of them and they love him anyway.

And what does he do? He broadsides some random dude out on some lonely stretch of highway.  
  
.  
  
“You hurt?” the tall one asks, the one who floats like a cat. He’s opened the door and is lightly gripping JD’s shoulder. 

“I should be asking you that,” JD says, blinking up at him dumbly. “I hit you straight on.”

Tall guy chuckles, reaching back to grip the angry guy’s shoulder. “It’ll take more than a Mercedes to hurt the Impala,” he says. “She’s survived worse.”


End file.
